


A Firm Believer and a Warm Receiver

by objectlesson



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: ABO, Aftercare, Bottom Harry, Check-Ins, Comeplay, Confusion, Dirty Talk, Dysphoria, Explicit Consent, Fertility/Pregnancy Kink, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Happy Ending, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Miscommunication, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega Harry, Omega Louis, Omega/Omega, Pining, References to Knotting, Rimming, Roleplay, Romance, Sex Toys, Sleepovers, Trope Subversion, baby boyfriends, teenage angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-11
Updated: 2018-08-11
Packaged: 2019-06-25 18:02:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15646035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/objectlesson/pseuds/objectlesson
Summary: a few months ago, Louis had his first heat. It was no big deal, aside from it being awkward and weird and all the other things it was supposed to be. He figured he would present as an omega, so he wasn’t exactlysurprisedor anything.But then, last week, Harry hadhisfirst heat, too.---Or, the omega/omega sleepover fic no one asked for but y'all really, really need.





	A Firm Believer and a Warm Receiver

**Author's Note:**

> Soooo you know how I HATE ABO fic with the passion of one thousand fiery suns? Well, a friend of mine did a quick search of the non-traditional dynamics tag within the 1D fandom and there were SO little fics doing anything interesting that I finally got angry enough about it I decided to write one that subverts and troubles everything I hate about the genre, and here is it. It's extra gay, there's loads of consent, biology is a metaphor for gender dysphoria and queer coming of age, etc. 
> 
> Shockingly, I sort of fell in love with writing ABO though??? Like! There's so many compelling ways to explore the universe I hadn't thought about before!!! I want to write so much more, particularly omega/omega since writing this story really brought it to my attention how much o/o fic can function as a metaphor for lesbian sex and relationships in conversation with the threat of lesbophobia. Like, this story reminded me a lot of writing girl direction, and felt healing in the same way. I really hope the rest of you enjoy it!!! 
> 
> I also really hope it encourages more people to interrogate the things that was gross and inherently homophobic about traditional ABO, particularly in this dumpster fire of a fandom. We could really use more non-traditional explorations and a/a or o/o fic!!! 
> 
> Thank you Jen, as always, for betaing, and also for loving slutty virgin Harry fits as much as I do. Title from one of my very favorite, very raunchy Depeche Mode songs.

It’s their first sleepover since they both presented, and Louis would be lying if he said it wasn't a little awkward. Or maybe a lot awkward. 

For one, they’re sitting at opposite ends of the couch, not touching, while they watch some old _EastEnders_ rerun from the ’90s. Under normal circumstances, they’d be tangled up together under a blanket by now, legs twined flirtily while they made fun of the show, fed each other popcorn, and mispronounced every character's name until they were unintelligible. Louis would be poking Harry’s dimples, pinching his sides when he got too loud, and twisting his curls around his fingers, making them bounce until Harry got sleepy and he could get away with petting him under the guise of teasing.

They’ve been close friends since they first met back in year 5, when Harry got his crisps stolen and Louis offered him his own packet in solidarity. Their friendship has become progressively more _charged_ in the last few years, with Louis increasingly aware that he wants to spend all of his time around Harry, not just because they’re best mates, but because he _fancies_ him. But this, this _tension_ , is new. 

Even after Louis figured out that the reason why he was so obsessed with tackling and wrestling Harry was because he desperately wanted to snog him, they were never _tense_ around each other. He never felt like he wasn't allowed to sling an arm around Harry’s shoulder or hop up onto his back or lift him off the ground while he shrieked, long legs pinwheeling in the air because everything about Harry these days is long and lanky. Touching him never felt weird, and Louis never felt guilty about it, not until everything _changed_ last week, and now he doesn't know where they stand with each other. 

See, a few months ago, Louis had his first heat. It was no big deal, aside from it being awkward and weird and all the other things it was supposed to be. He figured he would present as an omega, so he wasn’t exactly _surprised_ or anything.

But then, last week, Harry had _his_ first heat, too. 

And now they’re sitting more than an arm’s width apart, gazes fixed unwaveringly on the screen as if they actually _watch_ _EastEnders_ instead of ritualistically tear it apart until they’re both in stitches. Louis doesn't know what to do. He’s never caught so much fucking dialogue on this garbage show in his life, and he’s never gone longer than, like, fifteen minutes without touching Harry in some way when they’re hanging out. It feels _wrong,_ but he can’t unglue his eyes from the telly to look at him, can’t shuffle across the couch and drape himself over his lap and tell him that he’s bored. He feels like he can never touch Harry the way he used to (or the way he _longs_ to) ever again because, _before_ , their futures weren't written by biology, and, now, they are. 

Louis shifts uncomfortably and stuffs more Twiglets into his mouth. It would be amazing if he, like, _wasn’t_ in love with Harry. Or if Harry had ended up presenting as an alpha, like Louis thought (hoped) he would. Now he's stuck with a giant, years-long crush on his mate, someone he’ll never in a million years be able to have any sort of lasting sexual relationship with, and his whole _life_ feels wobbly, uncertain. Plus, there’s a weird, sick surge of shame in Louis’s chest every time he steals a fleeting look at Harry because he _knows_ that it can’t go anywhere. He used to feel a normal, _I fancy my friend and he doesn't know it_ amount of discomfort regarding Harry, but _this,_ this is different. This feels _dirty._

The ad break comes, and Harry turns to him decidedly, making Louis’s heart clench up in his chest. “Pass those over, yeah?” Harry asks, before he peers into the mostly empty Twiglets bag, eyes narrowed. “Or did you eat them all? You don’t even _like_ Twiglets that much,” he pouts, reaching for the dregs. 

Spooked, Louis shies away, pulse pounding. “Hey! I was hungry. There’s another bag in the kitchen, want me to get it?” 

This is a moment that would, on any other, pre-presentation day, turn into a wrestling match, Twiglets forgotten. Instead, they sort of look at each other, eyes wide and caught, like they’ve just realized that they’re nearing a precipice they’re unprepared to scale. 

“Nah, s’okay,” Harry mutters, retreating back to his side of the couch defeatedly, picking at his nail bed and frowning. “I want something sweet, anyway. Jelly Babies. Haribo.” 

Louis sighs wordlessly and heads into the kitchen to get some Starmix for Harry. He can tell by his body language that Harry feels some sort of dirty, too, like he’s punishing himself for Louis’s inability to touch him, like he knows in presenting the way he did that something has changed between them. He seems like he maybe wants to talk about it, have a whole, _I’m an omega, you’re an omega, we’re both omegas, so let’s have a proper chat about how fucking weird it feels to start leaking out your arse_ heart-to-heart, but Louis can't talk about it yet. What is there to say? _Thought we might end up mated like a fucking sap, and now I’m having to rethink my entire life! Sorry that looking at you makes me want to cry! Congrats on the heat!_

He rifles through the larder and can only find a half-empty bag rolled up and tied off with an elastic. They’ve probably gone a bit stale, and Harry loves his Haribo so he probably won’t care, but still, Louis feels inadequate. Like he’ll _always_ feel inadequate, the _same_ as Harry, not his missing piece.

He chews his lip, grabs the half-bag, and brings it back to Harry as the next episode starts up. They polish it off in silence, so many things unsaid, and, _god,_ he fucking hates this weird, pervasive ache; he hates it so much. 

Harry’s floppy curls are close enough to inhale from, so Louis leans away self-protectively. Harry _smells_ different now, his neutral, salty boyishness giving way to a sharper musk, the hormonal bite of an omega fresh off his first heat. It should be familiar to Louis, not a fucking turn on, but he’s stupid for Harry, so it twists up his gut all the same. 

Loving Harry, _wanting_ him, doesn't go away. Louis still wants to pet his hair, still wants to pull him in close, to snog him silly, hold his hand, take care of him. But he’s not an alpha, _neither_ of them are, so everything he wants, everything he imagines just seems impossible now. 

Harry yawns as his head drifts closer, a breath away from Louis’s shoulder, perhaps. Louis could close that distance if he just tilted in. 

Instead, he pulls back and fits himself as snugly against the arm of the couch as he can. 

—-

They finish all their usual sleepover snacks as _EastEnders_ turns into _Hollyoaks_ , so the logical thing to do since it’s well after 1 am would be to go to sleep. They’re both droopy-eyed, but the only thing keeping them out here bathed in the telly’s blue glow is the knowledge that Louis’s bedroom, where they've stayed up talking and goofing around and playing doctor and all its variations so many times before, feels like an impenetrable realm right now. Like, if they step over that threshold, they're going to have to talk about it. Their respective heats, their respective futures. What it means for their friendship, now that they’re destined to live the same life. 

Louis has other friends who are omegas, and they’ve had this talk with little to no drama. He and Zayn got their first heats back-to-back and spent a whole evening getting stoned in Zayn’s back garden before Z just turned to him and drawled, _so, like, you scared? Of getting the knot? Gotta admit, m’a little scared...just seems like it’ll hurt, yeah?_ and Louis had been so relieved because he'd just been freaking out about the _exact same_ _thing_ the night before, at the tail end of his heat, when the hunger in his gut had started to die down a bit, and he was starting to feel the effects of all the times he’d gotten himself off with a dildo up his arse in the last few days, the soreness, the ache now that he wasn’t craving it half as badly. 

_Yeah, m’sorta scared, but I also feel like...I dunno, like me body is changing? Like, I used to mess around, stick a finger up me bum in the shower while I wanked, and it burnt a bit, even if I liked it, but this time, it was different. I, like…I can take more? God, sounds gross, doesn't it?_ he had explained, leaving out the bit where he was _also_ not as scared as he could be because he wasn't imagining some buff, nameless alpha wrecking him against a wall, he was imagining _Harry._ Harry, who was clumsy and tender and sweet even if he was hung. Harry, who would be gentle if that was what Louis needed. 

Zayn had taken a long, slow drag as he shook his head, carding a hand through his hair so it stuck up in front. _Nah, s’not gross, Lou, s’just nature, innit. M’glad you’re here with me, though. Less awkward to go through this shite when’ve got a mate to talk to about it. S’like a second puberty, so I technically know what to expect? But there’s stuff they don't tell you about, like, I dunno, how much a knot hurts your first time. Just glad we’re both this way._

And Louis had been glad, too. It _was_ comforting to know that he wasn't alone, that he had someone to talk to about his fears, his insecurities, even the little sting of sensation in his chest that wasn’t quite self-loathing but still felt like the opposite of pride. There’s nothing shameful about being an omega, he knows that, but it was like all the bullshit his footie mate’s older brothers called him on the pitch in year 6 coming back to haunt him, a quiet, insidious, _toldya so, you’re weak, you’re soft, all this time, they were right._ Having Zayn there, someone who’s effortlessly cool, who has tattoos and a car and always steals Louis a pack of ciggies when they ride their skateboards to Tesco Express, has helped with that nagging, hard-to-pin-down feeling. Like, if Zayn’s an omega who has his own worries or finds the whole knot thing a bit dodgy, and he’s still cool, then Louis’s going to be okay. 

Theoretically, Harry presenting as an omega should provide the same comfort, he’d be, like, another boy to talk to, another boy to comfort or derive comfort from. Louis _wants to be_ to Harrywhat Zayn is to him, or at least he wants to want it. Instead, he’s afraid to be alone in his own bedroom with him because then he’ll have to endure this _new_ role he’s destined to play in Harry’s life crystallizing into something permanent. He’ll have to accept being a mentor, a peer, instead of whatever grey area they were straddling before. 

“M’gonna brush my teeth,” Harry announces as he digs through his rucksack without looking up, startling Louis out of his reverie. “Lots of Haribo stuck in...don’t wanna get cavities.” 

As he disappears down the hall, Louis thinks about how only a _week_ ago, he would have made fun of Harry for everything he just said, taken the piss out of him for being so weird and dorky and fastidious about his teeth or his hair or whatever else, but now he can’t even do _that_. He resentfully strips to his pants and waits for Harry to finish before he heads into the bathroom to do the same. He doesn’t even feel like he can be in the same room as Harry when he’s pushing a toothbrush head into his sloppy mouth over and over again, drooling white foam down his chin. Everything feels loaded, everything feels awkward, and eventually they're going to have to fucking talk about it, but Louis doesn’t want to cry until the light is off and he can swallow the sounds, hide his tears in the shadows, play the supportive fellow-omega friend to Harry while he's actually making himself sick over the thought of Harry’s arse getting knotted by some other guy. 

He hops into the top bunk and hears Harry adjusting himself underneath on the bottom, springs squeaking as his weight shifts. They used to share the bottom bunk when they were kids, tossing a blanket over the top to hide as they made a whole fort under there and pretended they were aboard a pirate ship stealing treasure or on a covered wagon in the American West or in a submarine fighting a giant squid. 

Louis wonders what would have happened if he had kissed Harry _then_ instead of chickening out at the last minute every single time. Maybe instead of having to change his expectations and somehow get over this huge crush that he's had for forever, they’d be figuring out what it means for two omegas to be dating. They'd be in it together. 

He hates having regrets, so he stops thinking about it. 

But just as he settles in to try and focus on something else, Harry takes a sharp inhale of breath, almost as if he’s about to say something huge, and Louis’s blind panic makes him announce abruptly, “M’knackered, mate. Gonna shut off the light and sleep, yeah?” 

Harry lets all his air out and then pauses for a bit too long as Louis holds his own breath. “Yeah, sounds good. M’tired, too,” Harry says eventually, sounding disappointed. 

Louis hates disappointing him, but there are some things he's just not ready to face, even with the lights out. 

—-

Louis’s dreaming of pirates and prairies and Harry’s huge, dimply smile amid it all when he gets startled awake by the sound of his own name. Dream-Harry dissolves as Louis blinks in the pitch-black of his room, heart choking him as he realizes that real-Harry’s face is _right there,_ peering over the edge of his bunk, hazy and indistinct in a halo of curls. “Lou,” Harry whispers urgently, his voice its usual soft, low lullaby but sharp at the edges, like he’s been frightened by something. “Lou, are you awake?” 

Louis sits up coughing, pretending that his skin isn’t crawling at Harry’s proximity. He feels invaded, like he wasn’t prepared to have him so close, especially when he was sleep-vulnerable and only just dreaming of him. “Yeah, I am now,” he murmurs, his eyes adjusting to the moonlit room. “What’s going on?” 

“This is so embarrassing,” Harry whines, sounding so miserable that Louis’s chest clenches. “But I don’t know what to do. I didn't wanna wake you up, but I dunno what’s happening, and I need help, I think,” he blathers, wringing his hands in his shirt and shifting his weight like something’s hurting him. Louis wants to grab him, pull him close, and wrap him up in his duvet like he used to do when Harry had a nightmare, but his hands stay fisted in his own blankets defensively. 

“What...what’s happening?” he asks, his voice sounding high and worried in the dark. 

“Ugh,” Harry groans, hiding his face in his hands like he’s ashamed. “I _know_ you don’t wanna talk about this stuff, m’not an idiot,” he starts, and Louis feels sick.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he tuts gently, making himself reach out and touch Harry’s shoulder, squeeze it a bit, and jostle him comfortingly. “Forget about it, m’here, I can talk about it. Just...is everything okay? M’sorta getting freaked out.” 

Harry wipes his eyes with the back of his hands and sways into Louis’s touch, so dangerously close that Louis has to force himself to not reel back. There’s something magnetic in the way that he’s orbiting Louis, pitching forward into his space, an unsteadiness to his movement like it’s out of his control, like he’s being compelled by a force outside the both of them. For a moment, it’s vaguely familiar to Louis in a way that he can’t quite place, and _then,_ then it hits him. 

_Oh, god, no,_ he thinks frantically, eyes trying to search Harry’s face for further signs.

Harry’s shaking his head, chewing his lips, not saying _anything_ beyond his reluctant mumbling, but Louis _knows._ He knows because he can smell it on him, sharp and spicy and overwhelming. He knows because he was there just weeks ago, and it feels like looking into a mirror. “Harry,” he says quietly but firmly. “Please tell me what’s going on.” 

“I don’t know _why,_ but I think m’going into heat again,” Harry finally admits, voice muffled from behind his palms, and _fuck,_ just having it confirmed like that makes Louis’s stomach plummet so hard, so fast that he nearly retches. “I don’t know why,” Harry repeats. “It’s supposed to be a monthly thing, yeah? But my first one ended just a week ago. Like, what if something’s wrong with me?” he whispers.

Louis can hardly breathe as he swings his legs around the side of the bed and jumps clumsily to the floor, blinking and disoriented in the darkness. “We can figure it out, you’ll be okay,” he tries to assure him, and his heart is pounding so fucking hard that he suspects Harry can hear it, too, so as he stumbles over to his computer, he tries to take some deep breaths, tries to calm himself down. “M’gonna turn the light on, is that okay?” he asks softly, remembering his own wish for darkness earlier, how vulnerable and spread open he feels in the light. If _he_ were having a surprise heat-thing, _he’d_ want the lights to stay off. 

Still, Harry wipes his eyes and hiccups, “Yeah, I think so.” 

Louis sits down at his desk and flips his reading lamp on, spilling sudden, gold light into the room, which feels humid with how _strong_ and maddening Harry smells. They blink as their eyes adjust and Louis wakes his laptop up, anxious for answers. “M’gonna google it. I feel like I remember hearing that it can be weird, like, for the first year or so after you present, I mean, shit can be irregular, so hopefully it's just that. You just sit there, yeah?”

“M’so sorry,” Harry sighs, collapsing into the bottom bunk, hanging his head. His curls are rumpled from sleep, and he’s all squinty and creased-looking in the faded, oversized Rovers shirt he nicked from Louis so many years ago that they both sort of forget where it came from. “I feel awful...m’just so embarrassed.” 

“Babe,” Louis says gently, even though he hasn’t called Harry that since everything changed. They both get quiet, letting the word hang in the thick, musky air like something criminal. “You have _nothing_ to be embarrassed about. M’sorry if I’ve been acting weird, s’not your fault. I’ve been a twat...you haven’t done anything wrong, and we’re gonna get this sorted.” 

“Okay,” Harry answers in a small voice, eyes wide and scared, cheeks flushed. He’s hard to look at right now; he has that bright, glowing quality that heat brings, his skin sweat-dewy and electric. Louis maintains eye contact as best he can without falling apart, offering Harry what he hopes is a reassuring smile. “Thanks,” Harry tells him, looking away. 

It doesn't take Louis long to find an omega message board with a whole thread about irregular heats, and relief starts to set in, the nervous tangle in his stomach loosening a little. “The good news is, it’s normal,” he informs Harry as he reads through the testimonials. “Sounds like it happens a lot when your body’s still adjusting to the hormonal changes, so you don’t have to worry about going to hospital or anything. Bad news is, it can be a whole additional heat cycle or just a few hours or a day or anything in between. It’s hard to know how long this sort of thing can last, so I guess you just have to, like, wait it out,” Louis explains, wincing. “If you want me to call your mum to come pick you up, I can—”

“No,” Harry says abruptly, voice coming out thick, low. He’s shaking his head as Louis turns to face him, fisting in his sheets and rubbing his thighs together rhythmically, and, _oh,_ fucking _shit,_ he’s so far gone. Plus, he’s so _fit,_ so goddamned devastatingly beautiful that it makes Louis _actually_ tremble to look at him. “No, I don’t want you to leave me, Lou, please,” he begs, eyes half-lidded, pleading, insufferably green. “M’scared, and you...I dunno, you always help with that stuff.” 

Louis takes a deep breath and gets up so that he can go sit next to Harry; whatever confusion he’s battling right now, he _has_ to set it aside to be a good friend. Helping Harry is what’s most important here, and he needs to remember that. “Yeah, okay, I’ll stay,” he relents, squeezing Harry’s shoulder lightly, breath catching at the way Harry collapses into the pressure, his breath coming out in a whine. “How can I help?” 

“I just—,” Harry starts before cutting himself off, hiding his face in his splayed hands again. “God, this is so fucked up. I didn’t want to _be_ this way around you, s’why I wanted to hang out _after_ it was over.” 

“It’s okay, Hazza, s’nothing I haven’t dealt with before, yeah? I know how it is, I know how it feels,” Louis adds, _trying_ to say the right thing, to act as the sage, older omega, even though he’s no more experienced or knowledgeable about this stuff than Harry is. 

“Then you _know,”_ Harry grits out darkly, turning to look Louis dead in the eye, tongue smoothing over his lower lip. “You know how fucking _frustrating_ it is to be around a fit boy.” 

Louis stares, the blood in his ears suddenly deafening. They might cuddle and wrestle and tease all the time, but _never_ have they gone as far as calling the other fit in more than a joking way. He’s bowled over by the frank, open, hungry look in Harry’s blown-out pupils, and he _remembers_ how heat made him crazy, made him want to say or do things he normally wouldn’t. The arousal is like alcohol, though, it lowers your inhibitions, but it doesn’t make you _lie,_ so it’s not like he thinks Harry’s fucking with him, either, he’s just…confessing, maybe. It makes Louis dizzy to think about Harry finding him fit, he can’t even begin to process what that means. “Erm, yeah,” he stutters, stomach twisting up, prick stirring in his pants. “Yeah, I know, but, like, Haz, m’like you, I can’t do shit about another omega’s heat.” 

“I don’t…I don’t expect you to. I know you don't think of me like that,” Harry sighs miserably, wringing his hands, face crumbling. “I just...fuck, I dunno what I’m saying. This is so fucked up.” 

“Hey, no, it’s not,” Louis frowns, shaking his head. He so desperately wants to hug Harry right now, wants to wrap his arms tightly around him and pull him close, feel their hearts pounding in frantic tandem, but he doesn’t trust either of them with that sort of proximity right now. “It’s not that I don’t like you like that, Harry. It’s that I _can’t help you_ that way, I mean, I wish I could, but you aren’t in your right mind right now. We can talk about it later, but—”

“Ugh,” Harry moans, flopping onto his back, thrashing, not listening. “I hate this! I want…I want _something_ so badly, _fuck_.” 

“Erm,” Louis mumbles, mouth dry, cheeks hot. “I have a knotted dildo,” he admits quietly, remembering it only now because its entire existence is vaguely shameful to him. He got it because his heat had been so unbearable that his old dildo, just a standard, slender thing, hadn't been _enough_ for how desperate he’d felt. “It’s clean, but you can use a condom with it if you’re worried about germs or anything. You can borrow it, and I could go watch telly for a bit while—”

“I don't _want_ to fuck myself with a plastic dick,” Harry growls, rolling onto his stomach and pushing his tight, little arse in the air, and, _god, fuck,_ Louis has to stand up and get away because he can _see_ Harry’s slick, can see where his threadbare, grey Topman pants are getting dark and wet with how messy he is, the damp fabric wedged in his crack and adhered to his skin.

“Jesus Christ, Harry,” he chokes out, rubbing his face with his hands before he realizes that he needs to cover himself up, that he’s tenting his own pants. He lowers his trembling fingers to his crotch. “You’ve gotta stop, m’not gonna be able to keep saying no if you act like this.” 

“I don’t want you to say no,” Harry pouts, worrying his plush lower lip between his teeth, eyes glassy as he grinds into the bed, breath coming out in staccato bursts. He’s so out of it, he got so needy so fast that Louis doesn’t know what to do. _Of course_ , he wants to help him through his fucking heat. _Of course_ , he wants to fix it, not only because he wants Harry so badly that his mouthis flooded with saliva at the smell of him, but because he _hates_ to see him suffer, to see him not getting what he needs. “I dunno...dunno what I want,” Harry pants then, humping the bed, reaching around behind himself to palm his arse cheeks so that they undulate, and Louis can _hear_ the sound his slick makes. “Everything’s fucked up. Gimme the dildo, I guess, tell me how you used it, I need it,” Harry pleads, reaching out and gesturing in the air. 

In slow motion, Louis walks to his bedside table and fishes his toy out of the drawer, making sure to grab a condom and lube, even though he’s pretty sure Harry won’t need the extra help. “Here,” he offers, setting it all gingerly on the mattress beside Harry because he’s too scared and turned on and dizzy to handle their fingertips brushing if he actually hands it to him. “The prick-bit is long enough and thick enough, so it helped a lot. When I was about to come was when I actually got the knot in. It, erm, doesn’t shrink after the fact, like a real knot, so be careful pulling it out—”

“This was in you? While you were in heat?” Harry interrupts, taking the dildo in hand and staring at it, red and shiny because Louis always feels weird about realistically coloured sex toys. The lube and condom remain on the mattress, and before Louis can remind Harry to use them as he sneaks out the door to wank and/or cry in the bathroom, Harry shoves the dildo in his drooling mouth, sucking around it enthusiastically. 

Louis practically falls to his knees. “ _Harry,”_ he groans, hands shaking, cock blurting precum into his pants as he feels himself getting wet _elsewhere,_ between his cheeks, his hole flexing greedily. He wasn’t even sure that he could _get_ wet when he wasn’t in heat, it certainly hasn't happened when he’s been by himself and Harry isn't writhing around in his bed _sucking off his toy,_ but he can _feel_ it now, hot and messy as he paces the room. “What the fuck are you doing?? M’gonna leave, I can’t—” 

“No,” Harry interjects again, pulling the dildo out, a filament of spit keeping the flared tip of it connected to that obscene mouth. “ _Please,_ please, please, Louis, don’t go, I’ll...I’ll get myself under control.” 

“No, you won’t,” Louis reminds him, voice sounding so reedy and wrecked that it’s almost unrecognizable. “It’s worse when you only come once, you know that, you’re only gonna get more worked up from here on out, and I...I’m not, like, strong enough to resist it, you smell too good, you—,” he stops himself because Harry isn’t listening to him anymore, his eyes are fluttering closed and he’s nursing the head of the dildo again as he clumsily tugs his wet briefs down over the pale, sweet curve of his little bum. 

Time stops. Louis has seen Harry’s arse before, plenty of times, and he’s always thought it was so precious and sexy, has always wanted to squeeze it in his palms while they snogged or something. But seeing it like this is entirely different, and he can _feel_ his resolve crumbling, his logic and hesitation giving way to a profound, hazy desire too powerful to fight. He can see the slick shining on Harry’s skin, a single drip of it slipping down the back of his thigh as he arches his back, pushes himself into the air. His crack is so pink and messy that Louis’s mouth instantly floods with saliva again at the sight of it, and then, _then,_ there’s the smell of him. Overpowering when before it was only strong, coating the inside of Louis’s mouth and throat every time he inhales, heady and inescapable, and he _knows_ , knows in this moment why alphas aren’t supposed to be able to resist it, why it’s described as a drug. Because even _he’s_ magnetized beyond his will, pulled toward Harry until his knees hit the bed and he’s climbing in, the whole of him shivering. “Oh, my god,” he breathes, palming gently down Harry’s back, fingers light and teasing over his fever-hot skin. “Are you sure you want me to? I’ll stop the second you say—”

“God, I’m so sure, Louis,” Harry moans as he pops his lush, messy mouth off the dildo, voice nothing but a spit-thick garble. “I’m so, so sure. Please...whatever you’re comfortable with, whatever you can give me, I want it.”

It’s enough for Louis. He relents, kneading Harry's skin, his bum cheeks, the padded softness at his waist. Then, breath held, he slides his hand down so that his fingers dip into Harry’s crack, and, _fuck,_ he’s so wet that it makes Louis cry out, an involuntary gasp because he never fucking knew something could feel _so_ good, so hot, so _ready._ “Oh, wow,” he marvels, rubbing over Harry’s swollen little hole, amazed at how easily the tip of his index finger sinks in as he drags it over the rim. “You’re such a mess.” 

“It happened so fast,” Harry whines, mashing his face into the mattress, drooling, voice hoarse. “Because m’in your room, probably.” 

That sends a lick of heat into Louis's gut, making him bolder. 

“Is this okay?” he asks, rubbing circles into Harry’s hole, awestruck at the give, the pliancy. Is this what _he_ feels like? Is this how needy and hungry he gets when _he’s_ slick? He cannot fucking believe that he’s never heard of an omega fucking another omega or at least fingering each other, feeling each other out. Like, it _has_ to happen, right? Who wouldn’t want this? Who wouldn’t get drunk off the smell? It’s fucking heaven, he never wants to stop. 

“S’good, s’taking the edge off a bit, but I want...I’ll want more soon,” Harry stammers, making little fucking motions into the mattress, lifting his hips back into Louis’s fingers, chasing the pressure. “God, it feels so fucking perfect,” he whimpers, sounding moved. “S’like, you know exactly what I want because you’ve felt a heat, too.” 

It makes Louis want to cry. He _has_ experienced this, he _does_ know what it feels like, how powerful and frightening it can be. Since Harry presented, he’s been telling himself that he could never give him what he wants, that he’ll _never_ have anything to offer him, but at least he has this. He can touch him how _he_ wanted to be touched when he was in heat, he can anticipate Harry’s needs based on what made his own body feel good, what soothed the incredible, gut-deep yearning. “Yeah, I have,” he answers gently, shifting closer, relaxing a little bit into the reality of touching Harry here, playing wth his sweet, puffy hole. “S’gonna be okay, babe. I've got you, just tell me when you want more or less or whatever, yeah?” 

Harry’s body shakes with a grateful sob, and Louis rubs him deeper, pushes a finger in past the ring of muscle experimentally as Harry bucks. He’s tight but not _at all_ resistant, just hot and sloppy-wet inside, so messy that when Louis withdraws and pushes back in, he has strings of it clinging to him. “God, this is so fucking amazing,” he tells Harry, crooking his finger, loving the way that Harry's body swallows him back up so easy. “Like, it’s making me wet, too,” he admits, shifting on the bed so that he can feel it between his cheeks. 

Harry makes a low sound as he humps the mattress. “Oh, god, you are? You like it?” he groans, hole fluttering around Louis’s finger in a way that he remembers his own body doing when he needed more, when he wasn’t full enough. He pushes another two fingers inside Harry alongside the first, holding his cheeks apart so that he can watch, and, _fuck,_ he’s never seen anything so beautiful. Harry’s pink, wet hole sucking him in so hungrily, slick bubbling up against his knuckles from the friction. 

“I love it, you’re so pretty,” Louis praises, fucking his fingers in and out, hissing out a breath at how Harry arches back and lifts his hips to meet him. “And, yeah, I didn’t…I didn’t now that could happen, but m’a proper mess right now. My pants are so wet,” he blushes as he feels himself twitching, tensing. 

“God, Lou,” Harry moans, tightening up around him. “That’s so hot...I wanna taste.” 

Louis’s frantic, reactionary laughter chokes out of him because, _god,_ this is so surreal, Harry is so _much,_ so far beyond his wildest fantasies. “You do?” he asks, tucking another finger into him, stunned that Harry can take four so well, so quickly, just like that, without even cringing or asking him to slow down. “Think that would help?” 

“I don’t care, just want it, want you, would love it if you sat on my face all wet like that,” Harry slurs, writhing against the mattress, kicking the air as he rubs his cock all over Louis’s sheets. “God, Lou, as soon as you presented, I thought about it, about eating you out,” he pants, drooling on the duvet with his eyes closed, hips rocking, so slutty and eager. He's _so much_ , andLouis doesn’t even know if he believes all the shit that he's saying right now, but it doesn't even matter, he’s so fucking turned on, he wants to give Harry everything, he’s right here with him.

“Erm, okay, hold on,” Louis tells him, slowly pulling his fingers out with a lewd sucking sound. Harry whimpers and chases them down the bed, needing to be stretched open, desperate for it. “Shh, hey, s’okay, I’ll fill you up again, just wait a bit,” Louis promises, and Harry nods, eyes tear-bleary as he watches Louis grab the dildo, still shining with his spit. 

Louis feels insanely dirty as he pulls his briefs down over the curve of his bum with fingers sticky from Harry’s slick, his erection keeping the Y-front in place up over his cock. Harry's gaze is fixed on him, climbing all over his body in a way that’s so transparently hungry that it makes Louis’s face burn as he pushes the head of the dildo between his cheeks, slicking it up. “Oh, god,” Harry croaks, humping the bed as he watches, hips circling, mouth open and slack with awe. “Are you…are you gonna fuck yourself?” 

“Nah, not quite,” Louis answers breathlessly, though he's unable to stop himself from pushing just the head inside a few times, wanting to get it extra wet for Harry. He thinks of how gorgeous Harry’s lips looked wrapped around the toy, about how that part of it is inside of him now, spreading him open, and, _fuck_ , he could come just from _staring_ at Harry’s mouth. “Getting it wet for you to taste.” 

“So I can suck it?” Harry asks, wide-eyed, like he can’t believe how good Louis is taking care of him. 

Louis pulls it back out, gasping at the feeling of his hole twitching, wanting more, always more. “Yeah,” he murmurs, examining the dildo, stunned by how slippery it is, by how _much_ slick is clinging to the silicone in filaments. “This is how wet you make me,” he rasps, holding it out for Harry to see, the blood pounding in his ears making feel deaf. 

Harry groans and wastes zero time getting his mouth back around it, his slippery, pink tongue laving and swirling over the head, slurping Louis off of it with his eyes screwed shut. He’s making these muffled little mewling sounds as he sucks greedily, going so deeply that he gags and coughs a bit, spit frothing up around the toy obscenely. He pulls back to lick it off like it’s a lollipop, grinding into the bed, and Jesus fucking _Christ,_ it’s the hottest thing that Louis’s ever seen. “Taste good?” he asks, so stunned that his voice is nothing but breath. 

Harry pops off the dildo, eyes watering and spit all over his chin. “So good, fuck, more, please,” he begs, and Louis curses as he slicks the dildo back up into his crack before gently pushing it down into Harry's mouth. “You want me inside you again?” he asks, stomach clenching at the thought, gaze darting back to Harry's deeply arched back, his pale, slick-shiny little bum. Harry says something, and the diIdo in his mouth makes it hard to make out, but judging by his emphatic nodding and the way that he’s getting up on his knees to push his arse into the air, it was some variation of _yes._

Louis rubs his cock through his pants with one hand, teasing himself as he uses the other to dip back into Harry’s sloppy hole. Then, he fingers Harry for a long time, learning his angles, how hard he likes it, noting that he favours rough and slow with fingers crooked rather than short, pistoning thrusts. Louis’s pretty sure that he makes Harry come a few times just like that, the _deep,_ inside-coming that only women and omegas can experience, where your cock never actually shoots off, but you get all shivery as the pleasure peaks. Louis thinks it’s the most beautiful thing that he's ever felt, Harry coming on his fingers, his insides clutching and rippling and fluttering madly while he sobs, his body snapping clumsily in time with the waves. 

At some point, Louis holds Harry's bum open so that he can just _watch_ because, _god,_ it’s so lovely, Harry’s arsehole is so pink and needy and _pretty_ stretched around his fingers, holding him there. He can hardly believe how good it looks, howHarry’s body just _swallows_ him so deeply, sucks at his fingers like his mouth. It’s incredible, and Louis’s practically drooling as he stares, moved by the maddeningly hot clench of him, the spicy, mouthwatering way that he smells. 

All the while, Harry twitches and moans around the toy like he’s drunk on Louis’s taste, even though he must have long since sucked his slick off the dildo by now. It’s so fucking hot, and Louis _cannot_ stop thinking about licking him out, holding him apart and sucking his puffy rim, pushing past it with his tongue and _inside_ Harry’s sweet hole, tasting him deeper, suffocating in that intoxicating scent. His head drifts closer as he watches how Harry flutters and drips, and before he even really realizes that he’s saying it, he mutters, “Wanna taste you, too.” 

“What?” Harry asks, voice wrecked, muffled from having his mouth stuffed, from having come a few times. 

“I wanna eat you out,” Louis says more clearly this time, pulling his fingers from the hot grip and smoothing them over Harry’s swollen hole, pushing his slick around. “Fuck you with my tongue. S’that okay? S’alright if it’s not.” 

“Fuck,” Harry whines, hip motions getting desperate, frantic as he writhes around on the bed. “Please, god, just...touch me there, however you want but don't stop. Need you in me.” 

Louis gets on his knees on the side of the bed and arranges Harry where he wants him, spreading his thighs and squeezing them in his palms, gripping his bum and leaving bloodless fingerprints in his flushed skin, dizzy with the smell as he chokes on his own spit. He feels like time is standing still, like he can’t get his face into Harry’s crack fast enough. “I won’t stop,” he promises, spreading Harry’s cheeks and thumbing over his hole, loving how it keeps flexing so hungrily. “I’ve got you, babe. Gonna make you feel so good, m’gonna get you through this,” he mumbles, more to himself than to Harry since he can barely form the words, not with all the drool in his mouth. 

Harry cries out the second Louis flattens his tongue and licks over him, moaning at the taste, at the metallic rawness from having been fingered for so long under the overwhelming spice and salt of his slick. “Oh, my god,” he pants, rubbing it all over his face, his chin, sticky and hot. “Fuck, baby, you taste...oh, my _god_ , Harry,” he babbles, beside himself, trembling as he licks, his tongue opening Harry up a little bit more with every drag because he’s that sloppy, that ready to be fucked. This is the best thing that’s ever fucking happened to Louis, the pinnacle of his whole entire life, getting Harry’s heat-puffy hole under his tongue, _around his tongue._ “Could do this to you forever,” he croaks, meaning it. 

Harry’s low, wordless groans get reedier, sharper as Louis devours him, sucking and slurping and lapping the mess up from his thighs, his perineum, his sac. He shuts right up, though, when Louis finally pushes his tongue up inside him, his whole body locking and shuddering before he melts into the bed. “Oh, god, Lou,” he sobs, reaching behind himself and pulling his cheeks wider, opening himself up. “That’s so good, fuck, just like that, please, oh, my god, fuck, love it.” 

_Love you,_ Louis thinks brokenly as he loses himself in it, fucking Harry’s greedy hole, repeatedly spearing it with his tongue until he can’t breathe, until he's starry-eyed and gasping, pulling back only so that he can suck in a desperate inhalation. He replaces his tongue with his finger just so he can keep Harry filled, then he's diving back in, licking around his knuckle, teeth razing against the swollen ring of muscle. 

He could do this forever, he’s pretty sure. He’d spend Harry’s whole week-long heat on his knees like this, licking him up, fingering him open, loving him so good that he’d never need to get knotted, if things somehow worked like that. He can’t believe how fucking perfect it feels to _have_ him like this, though, how insanely turned on it makes him, how easy it is to make Harry feel good. Louis has slick running down his legs, and his cock is so hard that it _hurts,_ but he doesn’t care. He could die happy right here. 

Harry, however, is getting impatient. “Louis, Louis,” he’s chanting mindlessly, grinding his arse desperately into Louis’s face, nearly knocking him over with the force of it. “I want... _I need_ you deeper. Need your cock,” he finally gets out, the whole of his body sweat-shiny and trembling. “You have to fuck me.” 

For the first time since they started, a surge of doubt rises in his chest. He sits back on his heels, his face a mess as he fucks deep into Harry’s hole with two fingers. “You sure? I don’t have a knot,” he reminds him, knowing how absurd he sounds, how transparently fearful and self-deprecating. He wants to fuck Harry so good, just like he needs it, but so far, he’s only done things that an alpha _could also_ do for him. Finger-fuck him, eat him out. Using his actual cock, inadequate and irreparably unknotted as it is, seems like a whole different thing, such an obvious way to draw attention to the area where he falls short. 

“I don’t need a knot, don’t _need_ anything but you,” Harry begs, arching his back and dropping his head, sweat beading on his chin and falling to the sheets. Or is that a tear? Louis doesn’t know because his own eyes are welled up and bleary, his own throat is tight. “Louis, I want _you_ to fuck me.” 

“Okay,” he says shakily, clambering back down onto the bed, moved by the way that Harry arches his back and just…shows himself off, so vulnerable and needy, with his red cheeks and wet eyes and wreck of curly hair standing up in a million different directions. Louis loves him fiercely, so he leans down and kisses the dimples on either side of his spine reassuringly. “I’ve got you.” 

“Know you do,” Harry replies, back somehow dipping even deeper. “Please give it to me.” 

Louis rips open the condom with trembling hands and rolls it down his aching cock. “I’ve been so hard for so long, m’so fucking wet for you,” he confesses, breathing against Harry’s skin, pressing his face into the ditch between his scapulae. “Wanna last, wanna fuck you really good, but—”

“Louis,” Harry interrupts, rubbing his arse on Louis’s cock in little circles, getting it all wet. He feels so hot and slippery that it makes Louis’s breath catch, his stomach drop. “Doesn’t matter how long it lasts, yeah? I want it, I’ve wanted it for forever, it’ll be amazing no matter what, and I…please, _please,_ just fuck me, Lou.” 

_I love you, I love you so much_ , Louis thinks in a haze as he nods and kisses the back of Harry’s neck, steadying himself with one hand on the bed, the other wrapped around his dick as he aligns himself. He’s never done this before, but it feels instinctual, like Harry’s built to take him, his back arched and his pretty hole twitching, glistening, waiting. 

He slides in so fucking easily, and Harry gasps with it. “Good?” Louis asks, teeth clenched to stave himself off because, _god,_ Harry’s burning up inside, he’s so wet, he’s sucking him in so tightly that there’s no way Louis can hold on much longer. “You feel…fucking perfect,” he grits out. “Any alpha would be so, _so_ fucking lucky to knot you, to feel your arse, your tight hole—”

“ _Fuck,_ don’t want an alpha,” Harry growls, bucking off the mattress, fucking himself greedily on Louis’s cock in shallow thrusts. “Just want your cock. Yours. You. S’what I’ve wanted all along, I always... _oh, god_ ,”he whines as Louis withdraws almost all the way and slams back in, thighs trembling where they're spread to accommodate Harry’s underneath him. “Yeah, you can fuck me really hard, you can, god, you can do whatever you want, you can take the rubber off and come inside me—”

“Harry,” Louis warns, feeling dangerously close as he fucks him into the bed, circling his hips for friction, Harry’s little bum cheeks getting pink and flushed as he grinds in. “I can’t come inside you...you could get _pregnant,_ yeah?” 

Harry laughs frantically, sounding so overwhelmed, so breathless as he rocks in time with Louis's thrusts. “If you were an alpha, maybe,” he grunts. He’s so fucking gorgeous, panting desperately as he clutches the sheets, scrabbling against the mattress to find purchase as Louis pounds into him, dripping sweat onto his broad back. “But you’re not, you’re perfect, you can fill me up with your come,” he says, and, _shit,_ he’s right. Louis literally forgot, was so caught up in the feeling of Harry’s wet, hungry hole around him that he forgot he wasn’t, like, magically fertile enough to make babies from omega sperm. 

“Fuck, would you like that? My come in you?” Louis asks, smoothing a hand down Harry’s side and gripping his hip to hold him in place. “I’d love to feel your arse bare, feel how wet you are on my cock, fuck,” he moans, pausing as he flexes inside him, too close to coming to keep moving. “I’m clean,” he adds, mouthing up Harry’s spine, drunk on his skin. “I’ve never fucked anyone, just you.” 

Harry’s rubbing his tears and sweat into the duvet, his cheeks and parted lips a violent, cherry red, the same shade as Louis’s toy, which is hidden somewhere in the sheets. “I’d love it so much, Lou, you don't even know,” he murmurs in a low, trembly voice, face crumpling as he says it. “Please come in me, fuck, god, I need it, need your come so badly.”

“Jesus, okay,” Louis gasps, withdrawing so that he can peel the condom off, trying to make it as quick as possible because he doesn’t want to leave Harry’s sloppy hole fluttering and begging in the air like that, doesn’t want to leave the tight, slick burn of him. He nudges his cock-head up against where Harry’s puffy and twitching, and just _that,_ being pressed skin-to-skin with his tip barely enveloped in crinkled pink, is maddening. “Fuck, baby,” he marvels, pushing in just an inch or so, Harry keening. “You’re _so_ , so wet, the prettiest thing, just dripping for me, making my cock all slippery.” 

Harry's whimpering and thrashing as he tries to back up and impale himself, but Louis won't let him, the hand he’s not using to part his cheeks is firmly pressed on Harry’s lower back, pinning him to the mattress because he wants to _see._ He wants to witness Harry’s body opening up and stretching for every inch of him, his slick bubbling at the friction, shining on his cock as he pulls out. “Louis,” Harry hisses, sounding so frustrated, voice snagging over desperate tears. “ _Please.”_

_“_ I’ve got you, Hazza,” Louis pants, stunned by how much _hotter_ and _wetter_ Harry feels bare like this, burning up around him. He feeds him another inch, loving the way that he sobs gratefully, like Louis’s average-sized, unknotted, prick is the best thing he’s ever had in him. Maybe it is. Maybe he loves Louis just as much as Louis loves him, and the mere act of fucking someone he loves is worlds better than any biologically-driven nonsense they’re supposed to adhere to. “God, you love it so much, don’t you, love being fucked, having your pretty hole stuffed.” 

“You think it’s pretty?” Harry asks, lifting his hips off the bed to get his hand in between his tummy and the sheets, stroking his own cock clumsily in the tight, humid space. 

“Yeah, are you kidding me?” Louis asks, thumbing over Harry’s rim where it’s stretched to accommodate him. He’s nearly balls-deep now, but he isn’t moving because he wants this to last, and he’s so fucking close to coming. “God, it’s pretty, I could have licked and kissed it for _hours_ , just wanted...Jesus, you drive me mad,” he admits messily, reaching down and around to thread his fingers with Harry’s, wanting to feel his cock, too, so big and hot and pulsing, steely-hard and satin-soft all at once. “I think all of you is so pretty, Haz. All of you...I think you’re perfect.” 

“M’close to coming,” Harry warns, wiggling his hips, cock dripping all over the duvet as he wanks, trembling. “Fill me up before I do, want your come in me when _I come,_ want, wanna be full of you, dripping,” he stammers, arm flexing as he works himself closer, body quivering under Louis. “Give it to me hard, please, hard as you can.” 

“Okay, baby,” Louis grits out, pressing his brow firmly into Harry’s back to anchor himself as he slowly withdraws and lets himself go. Harry’s so wet that it’s easy to slide in and out, to fuck him fast and rough without any resistance, plus he’s so fucking _hot_ inside, scalding and tight-slick and perfect. Louis struggles to keep breathing as he pounds him, back aching, legs burning from the exertion. It’s the wrecked, animal sound that Harry makes that pushes him over the edge, that and the thought of how _badly_ Harry wants this, how much his body can take, how desperately he needs to be filled with _Louis_ and _Louis’s_ cock alone. Louis locks up and his vision whites out as he sucks a mark right onto Harry’s shoulder blade, hips snapping as he empties himself, pumping Harry’s sweet, hungry arse full of come. 

Harry’s openly crying as Louis finishes, body nothing but shudders as he rolls off and slides out, muscles spasming, chest heaving. “Oh, my god,” Harry sobs, rolling onto his back with his cock leaking on his shaking abdominals. “I need something inside me, your fingers, fist—”

“Got you,” Louis assures him, voice hoarse, hands all over Harry’s thighs reassuringly. He fumbles around in the sheets for the dildo, and as soon as he has it in hand, he bends Harry in half, knees to chest, and pushes the entire thing into his hole up to the knot, mouth hanging open at the way Harry’s body so easily swallows it, his own come everywhere. Harry whines, grinding down, the knotted part of the toy spreading him wider without disappearing inside yet. “Gotta knot your hole so my come stays inside you,” Louis tells him, kissing all over Harry’s chest, sucking his puffy nipples, nuzzling into his hair, so fucking in love with him that he feels like his heart is bursting. “You good? This okay?” he asks, gently easing the toy in deeper. “You wanna be plugged up with my come?” 

“Need it,” Harry whimpers, opening his eyes hazily, pupils so wide that they’ve nearly edged out all the green in his eyes, tears sliding down his temples as he blinks. “Knot me,” he begs Louis, and in this moment, Louis’s certain that there's nothing more beautiful or amazing than an omega in heat. Than _Harry_ in heat, and he doesn't give a single fuck what anyone else has to say about it, or what they're supposed to do. It doesn't just feel right, it feels _magical._ It feels complete. 

He pushes the toy in all the way, and the second the knot pops up inside Harry’s hole, he comes all over both their chests, exploding so suddenly and messily that Louis cries out on his behalf, drinking in the obscene picture of him, his head thrown back and his spine arched, white spilling out onto his skin in ribbons. 

“Oh, fuck, that’s it, Hazza,” Louis praises, working the toy in a little deeper, spent cock twitching at Harry's moans. He slides his fingers up the toy to feel Harry’s rim pulsing and spasming around its knot, rhythmic like a heartbeat, and _Jesus,_ it’s like a fucking revelation. “So good, you’re so good,” Louis says mindlessly into Harry’s throat, right where his pulse is thundering. He feels drunk and out of his mind, so lost in being in love that he doesn't even properly think it through before he nuzzles up to Harry’s jaw and asks, “Can I kiss you?” 

Harry doesn’t say anything, just clumsily loops his arms around Louis’s neck and drags him down, crushing their mouths together, and _finally,_ fucking finally, they’re kissing. Harry presses up into him so hard that Louis can feel his teeth behind his lips, even before he licks into the sloppy heat of his mouth to trace them.

Harry tastes metallic and salty-sweet, like tears, and his lips are so soft and tender that it makes Louis want to cry; he’s _every_ bit as heavenly to kiss as Louis has always imagined, and he's _right here,_ squirming underneath him, whimpering as he shifts and the toy in his bum inevitably nudges against his walls. Louis closes a fist around the base, thumbs up against Harry’s skin, and murmurs, “Gotta keep my knot in you if I want to breed you good, yeah? So it’s okay if we keep this right here?” 

“Fuck, yeah, please,” Harry sighs, tugging at Louis’s hair in greedy fists, wiggling so that he bears down on the dildo. “Kiss me, though. Don’t stop.” 

Stopping is literally the last thing Louis wants to do, so he rolls Harry onto his side and fits their bodies together, legs twined so that they can actually have a proper snog. Louis’s so happy and fucked out that he feels delirious, sucking on Harry’s tongue, chewing his lips, holding him so close that their knees and elbows keep ending up in weird places. Every once in a while, Harry creeps his hands down to Louis’s bum, squeezing and mauling the flesh there before dipping his fingers into his crack to get them wet, breath catching in awe. “Wow,” he slurs into their kiss, wiping his finger on Louis’s hip and staring at the glistening trail it leaves. “That’s so fucking hot.” 

“I know, imagine how I felt,” Louis smiles from where he’s kissing down Harry’s neck, unable to keep his mouth off his skin for very long now that he knows he can _kiss_ him _. “_ You’re the fittest boy in the world. And the best kisser, too, come back here.” 

Harry giggles, sneaking his wet fingers up into his mouth and sucking them off instead, eyes bright and twinkling. Louis stares, speechless, before Harry leans in and catches his mouth again, tasting tangy but without the incredible _spice_ of a heat-slick. “You know,” Harry says as he pulls away a bit, gaze half-lidded. “Never thought the first time I kissed you would be, like, under these circumstances. M’not complaining, just…surprised.” 

“Had you imagined kissing me before?” Louis asks, cupping Harry’s face, thumbing over his tear tracks gently. He just wants to look at him, drink him in, especially since this might be the last time he ever gets Harry like this. 

“Louis,” Harry huffs, hiding a sheepish smile in his shoulder, breath hot and damp against him. “I’ve imagined kissing you, like, millions of times. At least once every day since I was, I dunno, ten years old.” 

Louis pets his hair, holding his breath as he lets that incredible confession sink in. “Really?” he asks. 

“Mm mhmm, shoulda told you sooner, I know. And maybe not while I was in heat and, like, waving my bum around in your face, begging you to fuck me. I know I said a lot of stuff,” he sighs, thumbing over Louis’s collar bones, brushing his fingers up the column of his throat, tracing the lines like he wants to make sure that he’s real. “But I meant all of it.” 

Louis wants to be elated, and part of him is. He’s spent so many years longing for Harry to tell him these things, for the flirting and parasitic closeness between them to evolve into snogging or whatever, but there’s a nagging sadness in the back of his mind, a regret that’s making his chest clench because it doesn't even _matter_ what they are to each other now, how they feel about each other. Biology always wins in the end. “M’sorry I’m an omega,” he whispers, frowning. 

Harry makes a face. “What? Why? I’m not. Loads of omegas end up mated to other omegas, like, it’s sort of looked down on, but who gives a fuck? It still happens. I found a whole blog, actually, of omega/omega and alpha/alpha couples sharing their experiences and stuff.”

Louis’s confused, suddenly trying to imagine Harry, all of seventeen years old, researching this sort of thing. “What made you look _that_ up?” 

Harry blushes, squirming again, breath coming out in a sudden puff as he freezes, reaching for the toy and touching the base carefully, like he’s only just remembered that he’s plugged. “Erm, well,” he stutters, voice soft, hips shifting back and forth in a subconscious humping motion. “I googled it when you presented. I thought you were going to present as an alpha, obviously, and I knew I probably wouldn’t, so I wanted to know if there was a precedent for it, and well, yeah. There is. A whole tiny community. There’s, like, fake knots, resources on nonjudgmental businesses …like, a lot of stuff.” 

Louis stares, dumbfounded. “You thought _I_ was gonna present as an alpha?! I thought _you_ were! I was holding out for it, and then you didn’t, and I thought I’d lost my opportunity to seduce and marry and spend the rest of my life with you, and _that's_ why I was being such a prick tonight. I was having a heartbroken strop about it,” he admits, feeling so fucking foolish for not being able to look Harry in the eye earlier. 

Harry actually fucking laughs at him. “I can’t believe _you_ thought _I_ was gonna present as an alpha! When we played house as kids, I always wanted to be the pregnant mum!” he giggles, tangling himself up further with Louis, mouth suddenly open and hot and wet on his throat. “You’re so thick sometimes. Hey, wait a minute, you just _gave up_ on me when I didn’t?” he yelps suddenly, pulling away and looking hurt, eyes wide and dark, laughter dried up immediately. 

“Oh, love, no, that’s not it,” Louis insists, pulling him back and burying his face in his hair, squeezing him fiercely. “I just…I thought it couldn’t happen. I dunno. I _was_ being thick, m’sorry. It’s not like I cared what people thought, it wasn’t that…it’s…I worry, I guess. That I’ll never be enough to satisfy you or something. You deserve to be taken care of, proper like.” He’s choked up by the time he finishes, throat tight and cheeks hot. 

“Lou,” Harry whispers gently, smoothing his hands all over his back, the broad stretch of his splayed fingers feeling encompassing. “You…no one could ever satisfy me like you do. It’s not about a _knot_ or a giant willy or whatever, it’s…it’s everything else. Like, that you've known me since we were nine, you’ve taken care of me for forever, and…god, you fucked me so insanely good that whatever heat-thing was happening is, well, not happening anymore.” 

“Yeah?” Louis asks, pulling away and holding Harry at arm’s length, studying him. “You’re good now? Not burning up anymore?” 

“Nope! All because my amazing, sweet, wonderful, _omega_ boyfriend fucked it out of me,” he smiles smugly, lips twisted up into such a delicious smirk that Louis has to pitch forward to kiss it. 

“So we’re boyfriends now?” he asks, lips ghosting against Harry’s, everything feeling spit-wet and magical and swollen. 

“We’d better be,” Harry murmurs, wiggling again, breath sharpening into a whine as Louis reaches behind him and gently pushes on the base of the toy. “Since I’m probably pregnant with your baby now,” he adds, grinning. He must be able to tell that Louis doesn't totally believe him because his smile melts away, only to be replaced with one of his achingly sincere expressions. “Lou, m’not kidding, I love you,” he says, very seriously. “And it’s, like, not gonna be easy, being an omega couple. But biology and what you’re born as matters a lot less than we think it does...studies are coming out about it, and, like, most of it is society stuff. Erm, social constriction.” 

“A social construct,” Louis corrects softly, heart so fucking full that he feels like he’s gonna explode into an entire flock of birds, one thousand wings, one million feathers. “I love you, too, and I really want to be your omega boyfriend,” he tells him, kissing the tip of his nose. 

“Good,” Harry says leaning in for a kiss. “Now can we get this toy out? God, it’s fucking huge, s’like I’ve got a tennis ball in my bum.” 

Louis cackles, rolls Harry onto his back, and kisses him deeply. He’ll get the toy out, he’ll treat him so well, he’ll take care of him so perfectly, and when it’s _not_ perfect, it’ll still be fine because they’ll figure it out. It’s what you do when you’re best mates and you love each other, when you don’t let biology and social constructs rule your life. “I mean, yeah, it makes sense,” he leers, waggling his eyebrows and lapping at the corner of Harry’s mouth, making him gasp. “I’ve got a _giant_ knot. M’super thick. It’s why they call me alpha-mcalpherson, the alpha-est alpha in all of Yorkshire.” 

Harry snorts as Louis kisses the adorable little line running through his forehead right between his eyes, and for the first time since they both presented, he truly believes they’re going to be okay. 

—-


End file.
